Chapter 36
“What?” I sit up on the stool and spin my head toward the front doors, starting to panic. Are the real owners about to walk in? Am I trespassing? “Whose yard have I been in all day?”
I race around the kitchen, looking for a clue of who lives here.
“Okay, let me rephrase that. I do live here, temporarily. But my brother owns it.”
“Your brother owns this house?” I start studying old photographs of people playing in the waves, or fishing off the Santa Monica Pier. The photos all look vintage though, like they were taken of a happy family years ago. I barely recognize Dom in one of the pictures when he was just a boy, probably around fifteen years old or so, give or take a year.
“My brother still lives back in California. This is one of his vacation homes. I’m just staying here while my own place gets renovated, it’s nearby. He rarely comes out. Busiest guy I know,” he says stiffly.
“Oh.” It looks like I’ve hit another nerve. “Is he in the vacation rental industry with you, too?”
Everything in Dom’s face flatlines when he studies me. There’s that unexplained tension rising up again. I wish I knew what irked him so much when we skirt around anything that’s about him, or comes close to touching the inner circle of his life.
“You swear you don’t know who my brother is?” He looks a bit skeptical, and it feels like an accusation.
I shake my head. “How would I know who your brother is?”
He puts his hands on his hips.
“Seriously, I have no idea, Dom. I’m happy to Google him though, if you’d like me to know.” I pull out my phone and hold it out in front of me, ready to type Dominick Bryant’s brother into the search bar. “But I’d rather that you just told me. What is he, like, a mob boss or something?”
“Put your phone away. I’ll just tell you.”
But he doesn’t tell me. Instead, he continues staring at me. Something about this conversation feels like a minefield, a collection of things I’m supposed to know but don’t.
“Okay, if it upsets you this much, you don’t have to tell me. It’s fine. Really. As long as your brother is cool with me hanging out here today, I don’t need to know anything more about him.”
Yet . I’ll just Google him later, when I get home.
I’m starting to get the sense that whoever lives here has something to do with the reason Dom felt the need to run away from whatever haunts him in California.
“No, I’ll just tell you.”
He slowly pulls the towel off his shoulder and plops down on the stool across from me.
“My brother is a director. A Hollywood director. Quinton Rockwell. Ever heard of him?”
My jaw falls to the counter.
Dom’s brother is Quinton Rockwell.
Holy shit.
Quinton Rockwell is one of Hollywood’s biggest film directors, often mentioned in professional circles with industry giants like Steven Spielberg and James Cameron. He’s well known for producing some of the biggest blockbusters to grace the screen in my entire adult life.
“Are you shitting me?” I set my wine glass down a bit lopsided without realizing it, then lunge to catch the stemware before it nearly tips over all the way. I almost broke Quinton Rockwell’s wine glass. “But your last name is Bryant!”
“Quinton’s industry name is Quinton Rockwell. He grew up Quinton Bryant.”
My hands close over my mouth — I sit back down on the stool to steady myself.
Dom studies me before responding, his eyes narrowing. “You really didn’t know?”
“Dom, how in the hell would I have known that Quinton and you were related?”
“My name got put on your Airbnb listing by accident. I already fired the assistant who made that mistake, and then when you said you were writing a script, I thought maybe you—”
“You thought that I somehow tracked down Quinton Rockwell’s brother, who happens to be renting out a little Airbnb in Hawaii, the exact same time that I’m trying to escape my own viral mess back in New York, just to get a leg up in my budding film career?”
Dom smiles like he’s totally used to this type of reaction when disclosing who his brother is. Then he goes back to draining the crab, unfazed. “Stranger things have happened. You’d be surprised at the lengths people go to in order to get close to my family. You really had no idea?” He sets the pot down to watch my face more clearly.
“How would I? You don’t exactly advertise that you’re related on your Airbnb listing. And, even if you did, I clearly didn’t read the fine print before booking it.”
My head is spinning as I put all the pieces together.
“Well, I feel like an idiot.” I leave my wine glass where it is. I need a clear head for this conversation. “Here I am, writing my first feature film script, dressed in bangles and kaftans, while your brother is legitimate Hollywood royalty.” I rest my hands against the countertop, still trying to process the fact that I’m sitting at a kitchen island owned by Quinton Rockwell. I press my palms into the cold marble in front of me. Has Quinton touched this spot recently?
“Nah.” Dom takes the towel and starts fanning the pillow of steam still rising off the crab legs, now sitting in a strainer. The sink is practically — no definitely — as big as my standing bathtub back home. “I think what you’re doing is admirable. Chasing your dream — that’s more than most people can claim over their entire lifetime. The majority of people just do the bare minimum to get by before they get buried six feet under.”
I blink my eyes a few times.
I spent today writing a movie script in Quinton Rockwell’s backyard.
“I don’t usually tell people we’re related. Especially not this fast. But Quinton and his wife are planning to visit in a few weeks. Selma, that’s his wife, hates when he tries to work on vacation, but he’s kind of a workaholic. Asking Quinton not to work is like asking the sun not to rise. I doubt he’d mind hearing a film pitch while he’s here. Especially if—” He stops short, grabbing the pan of bubbling garlic butter off the stove.
Hear a film pitch?
I wait while he pours it into a shallow dish for dipping the crab into.
Then I can’t wait any longer.
“Especially if what?” I try to sound more casual than I had a moment ago, sensing a change in the air.
“Especially if it comes from someone I care about.” He doesn’t look one hundred percent into his idea about me pitching his brother.
“Excuse me, but are we talking about me pitching my film script to your brother?” I can barely believe what I’m hearing. I only just found out they’re related, and now he’s casually mentioning that I might actually get a shot at pitching him?
“Normally, I would never suggest it. Especially considering some things that’ve happened back home. But . . .” He sets the pan down and comes to stand in front of me, pulling me off the barstool. He pushes my hair back from my face, gently grabbing hold of my chin, tilting my eyes up to look at him. “I like you, Liv,” he says gently. “And I think you deserve a shot.”
Just hearing those words come out of his lips takes my breath away. I wasn’t expecting any of this. I rise up on my tiptoes, pulling his face down closer to mine.
“I like you, too.” I bite my lip before brushing them gently against his. Not quite a kiss yet, but we’re almost there. “And I want you to know that it doesn’t matter to me who your brother is. I liked you before I knew about any of this.” I wave my hand around the mansion behind us. “You definitely don’t have to introduce me to Quinton if that makes you nervous. I could tell there was something you felt suspicious about, ever since I mentioned my reason for being here. But, I swear, I had no idea who you were, or who you were related to. Hell, I’m the one that tried to leave the island right after I landed, and you’re the one that stopped me.”
I close the gap between us, giving in to one slow, sweet kiss. My pulse picks up speed.
“I’d love to introduce you two. Not just because I want you to meet him, but because I’d also like to give you that connection. I got to where I am in the business world because people I cared about gave me a once-in-a-lifetime chance to prove myself. That’s exactly what I want to do for you.”
He kisses me again while this new information swims through my mind. The way he sees me. This thing he wants to do for me. I’ve never met a man like Dom. He’s not only selfless, but also thoughtful and kind. He makes me feel like I’m home, even when I’m so far away from anything I’ve ever known. He doesn’t have to do this for me — but knowing that he wants to makes me want to pounce on him right here.
“But I have to warn you,” he goes on, “there’s a reason Quinton’s been so successful. If something doesn’t feel exactly right to him, he won’t take a chance on it. No matter who’s pitching.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from a bona fide genius,” I tell him, not surprised. “I’ve met enough people in the film industry as a Good Day Show anchor to know that the most successful people in Hollywood tend to be a special kind of eccentric.” I crinkle my nose as he cracks into a grin. “But enough about your brother. I came here for an entirely different purpose.”
“The food?” He grips my hips on both sides, sending a shockwave down both legs.
I take a step toward him, fighting the urge to close the gap too quickly. I want to make this moment as slow and delicious as possible.
“You may not know this,” I say quietly, biting my lip, “but I’ve been pretty crazy about you since you first shoved open that front door for me. Before I even knew a thing about you.”
He lets out a sigh, like he’s been holding his breath until hearing those words come out of my mouth. He kisses me again.
It all clicks into place. My own puzzle about Dom. I cup his face between my hands, willing him to look at me again. Wanting to see if I’m about to nail down the reason for all his hesitation when we talk about anything in his world.
“Wait, is this what you’ve been running away from back in California?” I ask quietly. “Your family? The fame?”
He nods slowly, his mouth twisting into a half-smile, while his eyes turn a dark, stormy green.
“It’s a blessing and a curse,” he says. “You’d be surprised by what the mere proximity of extreme success can make people do.”
“Dom, your brother could be the King of England, and I still wouldn’t give a shit.” I grab a fistful of fabric from the waistline of his shorts and pull him closer to me. “He could be handing out orders to peasants in the middle of New York City and I’d still just want to be anywhere you are. It doesn’t matter to me who you’re related to.”
I have a feeling this isn’t the last time we’ll talk about it. I want to know everything about Dom, and that means knowing everything he’s willing to tell me about his family too. So many people would use this type of information to their advantage, drawing people into them. The fact that Dom has been afraid to even tell me until now makes me want to show him how much he means to me — without any of that glitz and glam he’s related to — just to wipe any final concern out of his mind.
I tighten my grip on his waistband. “In fact, your face is the second most common thing I think about these days. Ever since I first looked up and saw you smiling at me.”
He pulls me in closer. Seeing him smile like that makes my stomach do a happy flip.
“ Second most common thing?” He narrows his eyes, looking confused. “And what would be the first?”
“This.” I run my palm down the front of his body, slowing when I finally hit the growing bulge between his legs.